No Place Like Home
by Robin Sparrow
Summary: Songfic using Home by 3 Days Grace about Mort & Amy's life together just before the movie, when their marriage was falling apart but before Mort found out about Ted. R&R please! One Shot.


Just another Secret Window songfic. This one's about Amy & Mort's relationship before Mort found out about about her relationship with Ted. I took some creative liscence with some things, like Amy's job, since Stephen King doesn't give us much information concerning stuff like that. So, yeah. The song I used is called "Home", by 3 Days Grace.I heard it on the way home on the radio one time and all of a sudden, I thought of Mort and Amy. So, I decided to write this. Yeah. Hope you like it!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Amy, Mort, Ted, or the story Secret Window. Stephen King is the author of all... except the song and this particular songfic. (sigh)

* * *

Amy slid into her car wearily, worn out from working overtime as a waitress at a Hard Rock Café. She didn't like the job, but it was the best she could do at the time to support herself and Mort while he worked on his latest novel. When she had taken the job over a year ago, it had been solely for him, to cover for him while he did what he loved. She had done it because she loved him and wanted him to be happy – but not any more. She had loved him when he was there, but he wasn't at home anymore.

_I'll be coming home  
__Just to be alone  
_'_Cause I know you're not there  
__And I know you don't care  
__I can hardly wait to leave this place_

Even though he was a writer and was always in the house writing, he still wasn't really there. He got so lost in his writing, so caught up, that it was like his body was in the real world, but his spirit, his mind, his persona, was in an entirely different universe. He used to be able to pull himself out of it, and when he looked at Amy he really saw her there, and loved her. But now, when she looked him in the eye, she couldn't feel him looking back. It was like he was looking through her at something else, and didn't know she was there. The few times he was there, they fought, or they didn't talk at all.

_No matter how hard I try  
You're never satisfied  
This is not a home  
I think I'm better off alone_

Even though she disliked her job, she hated going home even more. The house she and Mort had bought and loved so much now seemed like a prison or a torture chamber. It wasn't a home anymore, just a building with a man inside who couldn't even seem to remember he was married. When she finally reached the house and got out of the car, she felt faintly sick. She was tired of the fighting and the silence, and the house that wasn't a home to her. She no longer had a home to go to – she had a nightmare, and she was tired of having the same dream over and over again. She longed to rewind and go back to the beginning, back to the good old days when Mort was still around and still paid attention to her… but those days were never coming back. All she had now was this empty house.

_You always disappear  
Even when you're here  
This is not my home  
I think I'm better off alone_

When she walked in, she tried for the umpteenth time to be kind and loving to him, hoping that maybe he'd changed, and that everything was back to the way it was, how it should be. "Mort? I'm home," she called out. A muffled response that sounded somewhat like a distracted groan came from behind Mort's writing desk. "Do you want to go out for dinner tonight? That new Chinese restaurant opened up in town yesterday, and I heard it's really good." No response. "Mort?"

"I'm working, Amy!" Mort replied.

Amy felt like crying. It was just the same as it had been the day before, as it had been for the last few years. She'd tried to hold it together, oh yes, she'd tried, but it was hard to love someone who never noticed you, who had left you for his writing.

_Home, home,  
__This house is not a  
Home, home,  
__This house is not a home_

She couldn't take it any more. She had to end it, and she had to end it today. "MORT!" she yelled. He made another groaning noise. "Mort, get down here now! I have to talk to you about something."

"Not now, Amy, I'm working!"

"MORT!"

Mort heaved a deep sigh and reluctantly pushed himself up out of his chair and dragged himself downstairs. "What is it, Amy? What do you want?"

She took a deep breath. "I want out."

Mort looked bewildered. "What?"

"You heard me. I want to end this, now. I can't stand it anymore. I don't love you, and you don't seem to care. So let's just get out of this. It's not worth it to stay like this."

Mort didn't understand what she was saying, why she looked like she was going to cry, or why her voice was so strained and angry. What he did know was that they'd gone through this thousands of times before, this fighting, and that he hated it more than anything else in the world. It seemed like every other day Amy came home, interrupted his writing, and got mad at him for one thing or another.

_By the time you come home  
I'm already stoned  
You turn off the TV  
And you scream at me_

Then she'd start screaming, and he'd yell back, and it would end with her running into the bathroom with tears running down her face. He'd always felt guilty when she did that, but he didn't know what to do. He didn't think he could do anything, so he always went back to what he did know – writing. By the time she'd come out of the bathroom, all cold and composed, he'd be back in his own world. Guilty or not, he still hated the screaming and fighting.

_I can hardly wait  
Till you get off my case_

Now they were about to start it all over again. He figured they might as well get it over with as quickly as possible. "What the hell are you talking about, Amy?"

She took a deep breath, and Mort sensed something was very different, and very wrong. This wasn't their regular, run-of-the-mill fights where she told him to get off his laptop and spend some "quality time" with her. Something wasn't right. "I mean, I want a divorce."

Mort wanted to scream, cry, and kill her all at once – but mostly, he wanted to run away, to go back to his writing, where he controlled everything that happened. Nothing bad could happen to him while he was in the world of writers.

He didn't know what to say. It seemed like every time they fought, Amy found something else that was wrong with him, but today she didn't seem to want to pick on any particular thing. Instead, he decided, she wanted to tell him that everything was wrong with him, that nothing he did was right. No matter what he did, it seemed like she always found a way to scream at him for it. And he wished it would just end. But… divorce?

_No matter how hard I try  
You're never satisfied  
This is not a home  
I think I'm better off alone_

"Don't give me that look, Mort. You had to know this was coming. You're not there for me anymore, and that's what a husband's supposed to do. So let's just stop this stupidity and get a divorce."

He still loved Amy. He loved her more than he had ever loved anyone, or anything, else. He didn't want her to leave. But she wasn't at home very much of the day. She worked away the daylight hours, and didn't come back until dinner-time. Then, when she finally did come back, she'd either ignore him or they'd start another round of husband/wife bashing. Then she'd run in the bathroom and cry for hours, and when she finally came out, she wouldn't speak to him. She never even said good-night to him anymore, even when he did. Then they'd fall asleep, both as far away from each other as possible on the mattress, and by the time he woke up the next morning, she'd already be gone.

All of this was running through his head as she said the words "You're not there for me." It was so unfair of her to say that, when she herself was never home, that he couldn't help but yell at her. "Not there for you? Amy, you're the one who's at work all day long and only comes home to shout at me!"

_You always disappear  
Even when you're here  
This is not my home  
I think I'm better off alone_

Amy looked at him with so much outrage and horror that he almost wanted to take it back. Almost. "What the hell are you talking about, Mort? I took that job for YOU – to cover for YOU while you wrote your damn stories! You're the one who's never home!"

Mort was enraged. "Never home! Amy, I WORK AT HOME! I don't go ANYWHERE!"

"I knew you wouldn't understand!" she cried tearfully. "You never do! We don't even know who we are anymore! Mort, this is a disaster!" She swallowed and started over. "Look. I don't love you, Mort, and you obviously don't love me. So let's just get the paperwork and end this NOW!"

_Home, home,  
__This house is not a  
Home, home,  
__This house is not a home  
I'm better off alone_

Mort stared at her disbelievingly. Then he laughed a cruel, cruel laugh and shook his head. "I don't have to put up with this shit, Amy. Not from you."

"What the hell does that mean!" she demanded. Rather than answering, he went over to the computer desk, saved his work onto a CD, took out the CD and put it in a case, and started heading towards the coat rack. She watched him with wide eyes. "What are you doing?"

He still didn't answer. Instead, he pulled on his coat and hat, and reached for his shoes.

_No matter how hard I try  
You're never satisfied  
This is not a home  
I think I'm better off alone_

After tying his shoes, Mort headed towards the door. "Where are you going?" came Amy's desperate-sounding voice from behind him.

He turned to look at her. "You know perfectly well what I'm doing. After all, I think you've been thinking about doing this exact thing to me for a long, long time. I'm leaving. Call me when you're done blaming me for all our problems."

Her emotions were too complicated, too mixed-up to read in her face or eyes. Mort didn't even try to guess her thoughts. "Where are you going?" she asked more quietly.

"The other house, up by Tashmore Lake." Then he grabbed his keys off the hook and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. Amy ran over to the window and watched him as he climbed into his car, pulled out of the driveway, and drove off down the street and out of sight.

_You always disappear  
Even when you're here  
This is not my home  
I think I'm better off alone_

All the anger left her, and she sank down onto the couch feeling lost and alone. She didn't regret saying any of it, for it was all true, but she had never wanted such a forceful and painful break-up. She wished they could have talked it over and called it off calmly, without all the yelling and tears. Most of all, she wished she had had the courage to tell him about Ted. But it was too late. Mort was gone, they were separated, and she still hadn't confessed. Now she was left with the job of getting the divorce papers, calling Mort up, and going through another probably even more painful fight wherein she would have to explain her relationship with Ted and succeed in getting Mort to sign the papers.

It was all too much to bear, and this house that wasn't home was too painful to look at right now. It was haunted by too many ghosts, too many nightmarish memories to count. She had to get away, at least for a little while.

_Home, home,  
__This house is not a  
Home, home_

Picking up the phone, she dialed Ted's number. He arrived only moments later, and together they decided that the best temporary solution was to get a room together at the local motel. They called the motel, made the reservation, and Ted helped Amy as she packed enough clothes to last about a week. Then, they got into his car, and together they began the journey to the motel.

Yet, as Ted pulled out of the driveway, Amy couldn't help looking at the house in the rearview mirror. Even though she loved Ted, even though she was glad that she and Mort were finally getting divorced… she still wished that her life was the way it was when they'd gotten married, when they still loved each other and their house was still a home.

She shook her head. Right now, she didn't have a home, and didn't want one. She just wanted to forget her previous life, and start a new one with Ted. Hopefully it would have a happy ending. In the meantime, she'd try to enjoy their stay in the motel. Nothing could go wrong when she was with Ted... right?

_This house is not a  
__Home, home,  
__This house is not a  
Home, home…_

_This house is not a home…_


End file.
